Favourable Conditions
by tricks-meuler
Summary: Emily has always known that Hotch hated custodial interviews, but she never expected quite this reaction.


A/N: Um... I have no excuses. None. All I can do is hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, I really hate trying to title things.

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><p>There were a lot of things unexpected about this... whatever this was.<p>

Emily had certainly never thought that it would happen at all, but she had imagined it. In idle distraction at work she had seen herself sprawled under him across his desk; on lonely - and, more importantly, not so lonely - nights in her bed she had imagined having him as company; in Paris she had wished he would magically show up across from her in a cafe, just so she could she could feel his cheek under her lips and breathe him in. Oh, she had imagined it plenty.

But currently topping her list of surprises was this moment.

'Fuck!' She's breathless enough that she doesn't even have to try to be quiet. He soothes the bite with his tongue and stills to let her adjust as she moans in satisfaction. She digs her fingers into his shoulder blade and bucks. 'Move.' He chuckles darkly as he obeys.

She had never, ever imagined that their first time would be in a public washroom in the Indianapolis International Airport, or that it would be this feral. It's hard, and sweaty, and they're still half-dressed. She always knew he had it in him - a suspicion from that first appraising look in his office, confirmed time and again - but she never imagined that she would get to witness it.

He's perfectly filling and the sink is digging into her thigh and the pace is wonderfully punishing and he's muffling his curses in the join of her neck and his shoulders are going to have finger-shaped bruises and the taste of his sweat is exquisite.

She is unsurprised by his general skill, but she is impressed with his ability to maintain his pace with his hands capably busy at her breasts. He drops one hand to her hip to improve the angle and she barely covers her mouth in time. Suddenly - with her arm around his neck, her hand covering her mouth - they're closer than had seemed possible. Her breathing is erratic and judging by his frantic pace, he's just as close.

Breathy pleas spill from her mouth straight into his ear. Fleetingly, it occurs to her that if he's this good in a cramped public bathroom, in bed he would be the best she's ever had. She doesn't get as far as wondering if that's due to unadulterated prowess, to their persistent chemistry, or to the undeniable emotional investment.

Instead she's gone and he's not far behind.

As he pants beside her ear, her head resting on his collarbone, it does not escape her notice that they have not once spoken each other's names. It occurs to her to wonder if he will extrapolate and avoid using her given name for a time.

He withdraws and wraps the condom in toilet paper before slipping it into the garbage. He ducks his head and she tries not to be desperately charmed by his consideration for strangers. They both avoid eye contact as clothes are reacquired. She bites her lips as she straightens her shirt. He still does not meet her gaze. The fact that it has taken until now for her, and she suspects for him as well, to consider the consequences speaks to their urgency.

His gaze finally flicks to hers, then to the door. She stops him with a hand on his chest to fix his collar, only half tucked down. His brief frown of confusion is replaced by a rueful smile.

'Thanks,' his voice is low and husky, and drives home how difficult this will be to forget. After looking at her for a moment too long, he presses a kiss to her cheek. 'See you in a minute.'

He slips out the door and leaves her with her thoughts. Thankfully the departure lounge is both empty enough that the washroom isn't busy, and populated enough that their absence isn't too conspicuous. On the other hand, perhaps under less favorable conditions, she wouldn't have just fucked her boss.

She has always known that he detests custodial interviews, but she's fairly certain he didn't fuck Reid up against a wall after the mess with Hardwick. It occurs to her absently to ask JJ about it as she fidgets with her hair, the thought swiftly followed by a soft huff of laughter.

She shakes her head at herself and flushes the toilet for show. She checks her reflection one last time as she washes her hands, then slips out the door.

She swallows the pulse fluttering in her throat. No one is any the wiser. She sinks down next to Hotch, who has returned to reviewing his notes.

She receives the exact same barely-smile that she is used to. Returning it, she pulls out her own notes and settles in.

When their thighs brush accidentally - a regular occurrence usually accompanied by a violent recoil - for the first time they simply freeze. Slowly they relax and they both, ever so slightly, lean into it.


End file.
